Defiance (The Defending Home Series Book 1)

by William H. Weber

  As for the barbed wire, Dale quickly realized there wouldn’t be enough time to encircle the two-acre area around the immediate house. Instead, they decided to focus on the front yard, reinforcing what they had in order to push raiders toward predesignated kill zones.

  Other pieces of wire were strung between pinion trees on the outskirts of the property along ATV routes attackers might use if approaching the house from the rear. The more they kept the bad guys off balance and kept them questioning their every step, the less time the bad guys would be focused on shooting at the defenders—in this case, Dale’s family.

  The house itself was also coming along, perhaps a little more slowly than Dale would have liked. More than half of the overhanging porch had been pulled down with much of the wood reused as shuttering for the windows.

  This wasn’t accomplished by simply hammering sheets of plywood up against the window frames. The first step meant venting the window sashes. Holes drilled into three quarter inch thick plywood were then fitted with twelve inch carriage bolts. Inside the house, the set up was braced by 2 by 4s, drilled with holes. The bolts were then fed through the plywood outside and mated with nuts and two three-inch flat washers inside. The end result was that even someone with a chainsaw would have a real tough time cutting through, providing the defenders several valuable moments to deal with the threat.

  Windows and doorways had turned out to be one of their major vulnerabilities and Dale wanted to ensure the problem was eliminated as soon as possible. With so much to do and so little time in which to do it, the challenge was seeing projects through to completion.

  Dale left the garage and found Colton and Walter working on the retractable stairs. When it was installed, this would be the main way in and out of the house. On the ground at their feet was rope and two pulleys Colton had found in the barn. The system would need to be both sturdy and dependable.

  “How’s it coming along?” Dale asked them. They had only just restarted after the short break to sharpen their firing skills.

  “If you want the stairs to lower over the garage and sit parallel to the pumphouse,” Colton said, “then we’re gonna need to tear out the wall beneath your bedroom window.”

  Dale scratched at the hair on his chin. “That window’s served me mighty well so far as a shooting position. I’d hate to lose it.”

  “We can always attach it somewhere along the back of the house instead if you prefer,” Walter said as he sawed a thick piece of board. “Either way, someone’s bedroom is about to become the new front door.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Dale told them. He got himself some water from a nearby bucket. “We can always have some people place their beds somewhere on the first floor.”

  “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to mention,” Walter said.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It’s the one contingency we haven’t planned for at all: fire.”

  “I’ve got three or four fire extinguishers in the house,” Dale told him.

  “That’s fine,” Walter replied. “But it won’t be enough if they come at us with Molotov cocktails.”

  Such a prospect was concerning, to say the least. “What do you suggest?”

  Walter buried his forehead into the crook of his elbow to wipe away the sweat. “I say we use the two things we got plenty of: water and sand. Place buckets of each throughout the house. May not be much, but it’s the best we can do.”

  Dale offered the hint of a smile. “Yet another thing to add to our list.”

  Shane passed by just then, pushing a wheelbarrow with a thick roll of barbed wire. Dale grabbed a pair of gloves and went to give him a hand. The fence line in the front of the house would eventually need four or five horizontal rows of barbed wire if it was to prove an adequate enough deterrent. At the moment it only had two. It wouldn’t be long before the wire they had would run out, a complication Dale had seen coming, but one he’d thought he could overcome by trading with a neighbor for a few gallons of well water. Now that Sheriff Gaines and his deputies were working hard to discredit him, the ranks of traders coming every day had been reduced to little more than a trickle. While someone like Billy might be flush with bathroom accessories, others specialized in a range of useful items. A large pool of traders was the key and thanks to Randy, that was exactly what Dale was missing.

  Cruising along that same train of thought, Dale couldn’t help wondering whether Sandy had had something to do with helping to spread those lies. It seemed hard to believe, given that false accusations had led to their breakup. But who knew what kind of pressure she was under nowadays, with Randy breathing down her neck, dangling their past over her head like a noose.

  Dale removed the wire and tossed it on the ground.

  “You pissed about something?” Shane asked indelicately.

  Apart from Sandy and his diminishing reputation, there was plenty Dale had to be angry about. Foremost among them were the deaths of his two milking goats and seven of his ten chickens. They’d relied on each of those animals to keep them strong and healthy. Working nearly fifteen- to eighteen-hour days, they burned a lot of calories that needed to be replaced. It had meant breaking into some of the canned food set aside as a last resort. Why eat out of a tin when you had access to fresh eggs, milk and vegetables?

  “I came home yesterday and you were gone,” Dale said. He left out the part about finding the livestock dead, although the loss and mystery of who had done it was weighing on all of them.

  “I went to get more four-inch nails,” Shane replied. He was wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt which showed off his muscles, but was also starting to brown from the dust and the muck.

  “Nails? I thought we had plenty left.”

  Shane shook his head. “Not four-inch ones.” He held one up as if to prove his point. “Why, what’s the big deal?”

  Dale grabbed the end of the wire and walked backwards, pulling it lengthwise. “No big deal, I just don’t understand where you went. It isn’t as if you can make a trip to Sal’s Hardware anymore and there isn’t a Home Depot for fifty miles, not that it would help if there was.”

  “I got them from someone’s house,” Shane admitted, rushing through the explanation, as though Dale wouldn’t be able to follow.

  “You know I’m not crazy about you breaking into people’s houses.”

  Shane pulled hard on his end of the wire. It straightened out, bowing and vibrating between them. From a certain angle, it might have appeared as though they were having a tug of war.

  “I hope you’re not bringing up any ancient history,” Shane said, growing upset. “’Cause those two aren’t related in any way, shape or form.”

  During high school, Shane and two of his friends had been caught by Joe Wilcox breaking into an elderly couple’s home. Their father had been furious, but more than that, he’d been crushed. He was an upright, honorable man and the thought of his son acting like a thief, well, it had just about killed him. Shane had gotten a whooping, of course, as he should have. But the old man had never forgotten what had happened and neither had Shane.

  “Our reputation’s already under attack,” Dale said, “we shouldn’t be doing anything that puts it further at risk.”

  Shane tied his end around the wooden post while Dale did the same. “The only one with a reputation problem around here seems to be you.”

  Dale stopped long enough to glare at his brother. “You believe the crap Sheriff Gaines is spreading?”

  Shane grew quiet.

  “Because it’s complete hogwash. He’s saying whatever he can to turn folks away from us.”

  “He sure does have it in for you.”

  “That’s what happens when you stand up for what’s right,” Dale said. “The people doing the oppressing tend to put a target on your back and don’t let up until you give in and cry mercy or run off with your tail between your legs. I’m not one to do either.”

  Shane got up and threw down his gloves. “Well, h
ave you ever thought that maybe if you gave in just a bit we wouldn’t be in this mess?”

  His brother stormed off and disappeared into the house.

  Dale fetched a pair of heavy wire cutters and returned to the fence.

  Brooke was nearby and came over. “I made an early warning system near the chicken coop,” she told him. “Took some old fishing line I found in the garage and tied it to some empty cans. Then I put a rock in each one. Will make a good racket if anyone tries sneaking around to poison our livestock again.” Her expression changed. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Making some alterations,” he said, as he cut the barbed wire between two of the posts.

  She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “You angry with Shane?” she asked. “That why you’re ruining the work you two did?”

  He snipped the bottom wire and looked over at her. “Uncle Shane’s the one who’s angry. Been carrying it around with him for years. But that’s not why I’m cutting the fence.”

  “You wanted it to be perfect?”

  “No, it was fine,” Dale said. “I’m opening an avenue of attack the enemy won’t be able to refuse. Some might call it the path of least resistance. See, if we’re outnumbered, some of the bad guys won’t want to go around or under the fence. When they spot an opening, they’ll head right through it.”

  Brooke scratched her head. “That seems counterproductive.”

  Dale smiled. “Not after you build a large spike pit right at the opening.” He set the cutters down and winked. “Just make sure it’s big enough for more than one man.”

  “You expecting some kind of army?” Brooke asked, sounding worried.

  But Dale didn’t answer. He didn’t have the heart to lie.

  The sun was low in the sky when they decided to call it a day. Dale hadn’t bothered chasing after Shane to reconcile. Thought it best his brother have some time to cool down. They were all under an enormous amount of pressure and people had to be allowed to let off a little steam now and then or they risked exploding.

  They all sat in silence at the table after a simple dinner of canned ham and boiled potatoes. Their muscles ached, their fingers were raw with blisters and Dale hoped all this suffering wouldn’t be for naught. Once she was done, Brooke cleared her plate and loaded her MP3 into the docking station on the kitchen counter. A second later, Johnny Cash came on, singing about falling into a ring of fire, and in that instant, Dale no longer felt any pain.

  Chapter 35

  Sandy

  While Dale was at home trying to forget the difficult line he was walking, Sandy was at the sheriff’s office, cleaning her Glock service pistol. When she finished, she slid the pieces back together and set it on her desk with a clank. It was dark outside and her one evening spent working the night shift was about to begin.

  Keith walked past her on his way out to his patrol car. “Sandy, someone’s on the shortwave asking for you.”

  She looked up, startled. “Me?”

  Keith shrugged. “That’s what they said. She’s from the clinic. Wouldn’t tell me who it was or what it was about. But she sounds upset.”

  Sandy rose to her feet.

  Keith stopped before exiting the patrol area. “The sheriff should be in shortly. He’s just running behind a little.”

  Nodding, Sandy gave a half-hearted wave and let herself into the radio room. Sliding into the seat, she grabbed the mic and thumbed the button.

  “This is Sandy, go ahead.”

  “Sandy, it’s Betty.” It sounded as though she’d been crying.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No, after our conversation you got me thinking about my brother, his wife, and Dr. Peterson pronouncing them both dead.”

  “Was there something you remembered?” Sandy asked, a mix of excitement and dread tingling up from the tips of her toes.

  “I went into the doctor’s office. We usually keep it locked after he died, but I got hold of the key and started searching through his papers.”

  “What’d you find?” Sandy asked, waiting with bated breath.

  “The Wilcoxes’ death certificates,” Betty said, clearly now in tears. “Seems that Joe and Doris didn’t die from the flu. They were murdered. Shot twice in the chest. But I can see where Dr. Peterson scratched it off and wrote H3N3 instead.”

  Sandy’s hand covered her mouth. Why the two causes of death, she wondered. Had he been pressured to make changes and if so was it even in question who had done so? No one else had as clear a means, motive and opportunity.

  “Is there another report there for the mayor?” she asked.

  She heard Betty shuffling through papers. “Yes, and it’s exactly the same.”

  “Okay, now take those papers and put them somewhere safe,” Sandy told her. “Do you hear me?”

  “I’m worried my life might be in danger,” Betty said, threads of fear clouding her voice.

  “Just do as I say and you’ll be fine. I’m coming over right now to pick them up.”

  “All right, but hurry.”

  Sandy ended the transmission and began signaling Dale’s frequency, unaware of the man watching her from the doorway.

  Chapter 36

  Ann’s voice echoed through the house for Dale four times before he came awake. He’d been dreaming that they were under attack and his Remington 700 wasn’t working. He would work the bolt, loading round after round into the chamber, only to find they wouldn’t fire.

  “I’m coming,” he said, getting up, Duke by his side yawning. “Tough day for you too, eh, buddy?”

  “Hurry up,” Ann shouted.

  Dale felt the first pangs of alarm. It wasn’t like her to yell.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he reached the radio room in the basement. The floor was cold and dusty and he held one of the support beams as he slowly phased back into reality.

  Ann held the radio mic out to him. “It was Sandy, but―”

  Dale’s brow creased as he took the mic. “But what?” He depressed the button. “Sandy, it’s Dale, do you read me?”

  On the other end was static.

  “There’s no one there.”

  Ann looked frightened.

  “Tell me what happened.” His voice grew louder. “Ann.” Part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders, get her talking.

  “I’m not sure,” she stammered. “I was upstairs in the kitchen with Nicole when I heard this infernal box squawking. I came down to see who was there. She said it was Sandy, that she had something really important to tell you, and that’s when I heard static and garbled voices. Snippets of shouting as though two people were fighting for the mic and then...” She paused. “Nothing.”

  Dale’s mind had already pushed through the fog and was kicking into overdrive. He charged up the stairs two at a time and straight for the shotgun lying on the floor by his mattress.

  The commotion roused the others from their slumbers.

  A nervous-looking Shane, Colton, Walter and Brooke filed into the hallway, firing a million questions at once.

  “Something’s happened to Sandy,” Dale told them. “She may be in trouble.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Shane said without skipping a beat.

  Duke was standing by the top of the stairs, ready to sprint to the truck at a moment’s notice.

  The others offered to go as well.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on,” Dale said. “It might be nothing or it might be serious.”

  “Or it might be a trap,” Walter said, ever the voice of reason. “The sheriff may be trying to lure you away from the house. Pick us off one by one.”

  Dale nodded. “That’s why I want the rest of you to stay back and protect the property.” He almost said ‘hold the fort,’ a fairly accurate description given the recent defensive upgrades. Instead he pointed at Colton. “How’s your side?”

  “A hundred percent,” his nephew lied.

  But for what Dale had in mind, eighty would do jus
t fine. “Then you’re coming too.”

  “If we’re heading into town,” Shane said, strapping his pistol on, “then we ought to go the long way.”

  “He’s right,” Walter cut in. “If there’s an ambush with your name on it, you know they’ll be waiting near by the high school.”

  Dale looked his brother in the eye, thanking him without needing to say a word.

  •••

  Sandy

  Sandy woke up hooded, gagged and tied to a chair. She grunted as she struggled against her restraints, a pair of double-thick zip ties looped around the seat’s wooden arm rests. Waves of pain flowed in and out from a spot at the back of her head where Randy must have hit her with his nightstick. She’d been unarmed at the time, her service pistol still on her desk, since running in to take Betty’s call.

  The faint odor of Old Spice wafted through the tiny holes in the sack that covered her head. Randy didn’t wear that brand—fact, he barely wore deodorant at all—so she was sure it wasn’t coming from him. Only one man she knew smelled like that.

  “Relax,” Mayor Reid told her, the deep treble of his voice no more than a few feet away. “Sheriff Gaines is going to remove the bag from your head, young lady, but you need to promise us you’ll behave.”

  She nodded her understanding. Randy did as he was told and the room suddenly came into clear focus. It was Reid’s old Teletech office, lit by a handful of candles positioned throughout the room. She’d never understood until now why the mayor still used his old office, but now it was starting to make sense. What better way to keep prying eyes at bay?

  Sandy felt a breeze brush against her chest and glanced down to see that her shirt was unbuttoned. Randy gave her a guilty smile, like a little boy caught doing something bad.

  “I needed to know what it was that got Dale so hot and bothered about you.”

  “You’re sick,” she shouted.

  “Now, now,” Randy said. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Besides I could have taken what little honor you have left if I’d really wanted to.”